


Muscle Memory of the Heart

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s in him like his eye color, trained into him like his reflexes, his aim. It’s muscle memory of the heart loving Sam, talking care of Sam, and it will be the last part of him to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muscle Memory of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Sam is 16.

Two a.m. and neither one of them is sleeping.

“Quit it,” Dean mutters as Sam shifts for the 800th time in the too-small table-by-day, bed-by-night they share.

They’re almost back to back under the sheets, both straining away from each other. Dean tries to get as comfortable as he can considering his knees and elbows are hanging off the edge of the mattress. He doesn’t need Sam getting all emo and...vibrating....or whatever it is he's doing. 

Sam’s sigh is more a tight grunt than a long exhale, but it grates on Dean’s nerves just the same, so he elbows Sam hard in the ribs.

Sam twists away like he’d been shot. “Don’t touch me,” he hisses. Sam’s back is a furnace where it touches Dean, and his muscles are tight, spine rigid. 

The deep rasp of his whisper is still a shock to Dean. At fifteen, Sam had slammed into puberty. Now, a year later, so many things about this almost-grown version of Sam keep catching Dean by surprise. Like the way his feet kick against Dean’s ankles now instead of being tucked up behind his knees like they had been for so long. Like how he has to look up to stare Sam in the eye. 

Like the way Sam had pinned Dean for the first time ever today.

Like what happened then.

Like the thing they weren’t talking about.

Lying in bed, Dean’s palms tingle with the memory of the feel of Sam’s sweat-slick skin slipping through his fingers as they grappled in the dust out back behind the craptastic trailer they were staying in this month. Sammy sweaty and mud-streaked was slicker than a greased pig, that was nothing new, and Dean had tried every trick he knew to get Sam to hold the fuck still. They’d stripped down to shorts before training, so there wasn’t a lot to grab that wasn’t slippery boy skin.

He’d gotten Sam half-pinned, face up on the ground, Dean straddling him a little higher up than was optimal. One of Sam’s hands was trapped flat against the dirt, Dean’s strong arm holding it in place. Dean’s grip on Sam’s other hand was more precarious. Sam had gotten it curled into a fist against his chest. Dean laughed breathlessly as Sam struggled underneath him. 

Shirtless, the mud and sweat on his body outlined the new muscle Sam had put on seemingly overnight. Dean was going to have to hit the pushups a little harder to stay ahead of Sam in the muscle department. Still, Sam was the one in the dirt now. “Say uncle,” Dean commanded. He felt Sam's body relax under him, saw the wry smile he used to accede Dean victory.

Next thing Dean knew, Sam’s hipbones were digging into his ass, and he was almost airborne. Sam had planted his feet on the ground and thrust his hips up hard, throwing Dean forward. He had to fling one hand out to stop himself from being thrown over Sam’s head. “Fuck,” he grunted, rolling quickly sideways to avoid getting Sam’s bony elbow in his windpipe.

With a wicked twist, Sam had Dean’s wrist tight in his hand. He rolled with Dean, ending up laying on top of him. One of Dean’s hands was pressed to the ground over Dean’s head, the other trapped between their chests. Dean could feel Sam pressed against him from breastbone to shins. Dean’s feet hooked around Sam’s ankles. Sweat from Sam’s hair dripped down onto Dean’s face. “Gross, Dude,” he spat, shaking his head.

Sam laughed and Dean could feel his lungs expanding, each breath pushing Sam’s not-so-scrawny chest into his. “Say uncle,” Sam panted out.

“Fuck you,” Dean answered, tensing his muscles against Sam’s hold, rocking back and forth, and up and down, testing for any weakness or place where he could get some leverage. Sam just lay on him, heavy and hot and unmovable. Dean was suddenly hyper-aware of his skin. He felt the rocks digging into his back, the dust and dirt sticking to his calves and the back of his thighs. And he felt Sammy everywhere as the sudden realization that Sam was basically riding him stole the breath from his lungs. 

He gasped, trying to breathe, as the drag of Sam’s hips across his made it abundantly clear to both of them that the only thing separating them was the thin cloth of last year’s gym shorts. One small shift of Sam’s hip and Dean could feel the heat and soft weight of Sam’s cock drag across his. The mortifying twitch of Dean’s dick in response was completely beyond Dean’s control. He closed his eyes and tried to sink into the earth.

Then Sam did it again.

Dean’s body’s response was stronger this time and heat crawled up his cheeks to his forehead. His breath came out in a shuddering exhale.

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam cursed reverently. 

Dean dared to open his eyes and look at Sam. Sam’s eyes were wide with wonderment, pupils dark with lust. He loosened his hold on Dean’s wrist just the slightest, and dropped his forehead down onto Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean’s skin goosebumped at the gust of Sam’s hot breath on his neck, and he could feel the almost-painfully tight points of his nipples pressing against Sam. He tugged experimentally against Sam’s hold on his hand, and long fingers tightened on his wrist. Sam’s fingertips pressed hard against the fragile bones and thin skin and Dean wondered if it would bruise. He bit his tongue hard to keep the groan inside. 

Like it was happening in a dream, like an out of body experience, Dean felt his legs fan open, felt the drop of Sam’s weight into the cradle of his hips, felt the soft hair of Sam’s legs on the inside of thighs as they slid up Sam’s body.

“Jesus, Dean. Fuck,” Sam choked out, soft lips wet against Dean’s neck. He opened his mouth wide on Dean skin and Dean’s head spun with the rush of blood to his cock. The hand Sam had trapped between their bodies clenched spasmodically, scratching lines of perfect pain across Dean’s chest.

He could hear the other residents of the low-rent trailer park talking, hear kids shouting from the shabby playground, not one of them paying any more attention to the half-naked boys pressed into the dirt than to the dogs fighting under the trees.

Sam’s hand flattened on Dean’s chest, fingers sliding back and forth, across and over Dean’s nipple. His legs clenched against Sam’s hips, and Sam whimpered. He felt the hard line of Sam’s erection rubbing against his as Sam shuddered and clenched the muscles of his ass over and over, not daring to move more than that. 

Dean couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Then he felt more than heard the low rumble of John’s truck as it cruised past the fence surrounding the trailer park. Sam reared up and Dean could see the white rings around his eyes as Sam scrambled off of him and raced into the trailer.

Trying not to think, Dean quickly rolled onto his stomach, palm pressed against his painfully hard cock. He thrust against the ground, remembering the feel of Sam’s hard body on his. His hips pumped once, twice, and he shoved his fist into his mouth to stop from shouting as he shot pulse after hot pulse into his shorts and the dirt.

Dean heard the water running in the shower as he walked stiffly into the trailer. Head still spinning, caught between disgust and desire like he had never felt before, Dean stripped off his shorts and tossed them in the garbage. He was dressed and sitting at the small table by the time John walked in, bringing the smell of whisky and leather with him. 

There were even fewer words than usual wasted between the Winchester men that evening. Dean threw together some burgers and beans for dinner. John lost himself in the bottle and the notes he was scribbling in his journal. Sam and Dean didn’t look at each other, trying as hard as humanly possible not to touch in the ever-shrinking space. Dean smelled the shampoo in Sam’s hair, the soap and sweat at the back of his neck.

The tense silence and the way Sam’s presence hummed along his skin was driving Dean half mad. He pressed his fingers into the small oval bruises on his wrist, and heard Sam suck in a breath. It was too much. He stood up, slid out of the booth. “I’m going out,” he announced to no one in particular.

John didn’t look up. “Taking the car?” he asked.

Dean shook his head. “I’ll walk.” He could feel Sam’s stare burning a hole in his skin, but didn’t dare look over. 

“Okay,” John glanced up and gave Dean a quick look. Dean knew his ratty jeans and t-shirt read less ‘headed for a hook up’ and more ‘drinking and pool hustling’. “Be careful,” his father admonished before turning back to his book.

As headed out for the bar about a half a mile down the road, Dean heard the screen door slam shut and saw Sam come out and disappear behind the row of trailers. 

Sam was already in bed when Dean got back smelling of smoke and stale beer. The sharp perfume of the girl he had pressed against the bathroom wall clung to his shirt. He kicked off his shoes, slid his jeans to the floor, and debated taking off his shirt or not. Sam rolled to look at him, skin golden in the sodium glare leaking through the blinds, eyes dark and unreadable. His glance flicked down to where Dean’s fingers gripped the hem of his shirt, then back up to Dean’s mouth.

 _We can’t do this,_ Dean thought even as a surge of want tightened his gut. _So wrong, he was so wrong._ He remembered the feel of Sam’s mouth of his neck, the strength in his hands, and he reached down to pull his jeans back up.

“Going to sleep in the car?” Sam asked, mouth a thin line, eyes locked on Dean’s. 

Dean swallowed loudly, eyes darting away. “Uh, yeah. Just...” He waved vaguely in the direction of the bed. “The bed. It’s small.”

Sam bit his bottom lip and slid further into bed, back pressed against the wall. “Get in bed, Dean,” he ordered.

Dean dropped his jeans back down before he could think to argue, then stopped. _Fuck. Fuck, Sam._ The image of Sam writhing underneath him slammed into his brain, locking up his muscles.

“And take that shirt off,” Sam forced out between clenched teeth. “You smell like a hooker.”

Dean stripped the shirt off. Not because Sam had told him too, no, but because he didn’t want to smell that girl all night either. He slid beneath the sheets, back to Sam. He felt Sam’s breath on his neck, felt Sam’s hand hovering over his skin, not touching. Yet.

“Sam,” he said, voice tight. Sam’s hand stopped. “Go to sleep,” he almost begged, eyes closed tight, shoulders tense. 

“Dean,” Sam whispered. 

Dean heard the soft susurrations as Sam’s leg slid across the sheet. If Sam touched him, he would break. They would cross the line they’d been pushing at for the last year, they would do something that could break them, something they could never recover from. “Sam,” he pleaded, voice loud in the silence. “Please.”

Dean felt Sam still, then roll away from him. He couldn’t tell if the tightness in his throat and the tears stinging his eyes were for what had happened or what hadn’t.

That had been around midnight. Now it’s two hours later and they’re still not sleeping. Dean’s temples pound with the things he isn’t thinking about, and his jaw aches from clenching around the things he isn’t saying. Things he will never say, can never say. Things like _touch me, fuck me_.

Sam’s voice startles Dean. “I can still smell her on you. Did you sleep with her?”

“No,” Dean answers. Not that it’s any of Sam’s business. But it seems important for Sam to know. To know that Dean hadn’t tried to wash away the feel of Sam’s body hard and sure over his.

“Good.” And Sam seems to hear what Dean couldn’t say.

Sam rolls onto his side, sliding his hand into Dean’s hair, tugging his head back. Dean’s breath catches as Sam reaches out, wraps his other hand around Dean’s chest, and pulls Dean into him. “But you tried, didn’t you?”

Dean doesn’t answer, but he slides his hand up to cover Sam’s.

“I tried, too,” Sam confesses, tangling his fingers with Dean’s. “I’ve been trying, trying to...want something...someone...” Sam’s mouth brushes against the taut line of Dean’s neck and he loses his train of thought.

Dean rolls his head even further back, giving Sam better access. “Someone normal,” Dean finishes for him. “Some -” His voice hitches as Sam bites at the underside of his jaw. Jesus, he should have known Sam would be like this. Demanding, taking what he wanted from Dean. “Some little girl from school?”

Sam laughs quietly as he drags their joined hands down Dean’s body. “Yeah, Dean. Girls. Boys. Whatever.”

“Sammy,” Dean gasps as Sam traces his pinky over the head of Dean’s cock where it pushes past the stretched-out elastic of his boxers.

“Didn’t work,” Sam says, voice a low whisper in Dean’s ear, finger continuing its torturously slow circle around the tip of Dean’s dick. “Never works.”

Dean can’t answer, pinned to the bed by the weight of Sam’s words, the barely-there pressure of his fingers, and the crush of his own desire. He pants shallowly, trying to get some oxygen into his straining lungs. He thinks he should be saying things like _stop_ and _don’t_ and _we shouldn’t_ but he can’t, doesn’t even want to. What he wants is to see his gorgeous little brother with his eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth open, gasping for air as he twists tighter and tighter under Dean.

Sam draws his finger through the slick wetness at Dean’s slit before untangling their hands. His hand slips under and around to Dean’s hip, slowly working the soft cloth down Dean’s body. He slides Dean’s shorts down under the curve of his ass. Pushes his own shorts down so that Dean can feel the hot length of Sam’s dick against his skin. Dean closes his eyes as Sam slides against him. “Never works,” Sam chokes out. “I can’t fuck you out of my mind.”

Sam’s words slice through the fog in Dean’s mind. Sam isn’t a virgin. Sam has fucked girls and guys. Something dark and possessive rises up in Dean, tightening up his throat and roaring in his ears, pulsing behind his eyes. He rises with it, pushing up against Sam, twisting and flipping them in a second so that Sam is underneath him now. The table-bed creaks and thuds against the wall.

John’s voice comes through the thin plywood bedroom door.“Boys?” He sounds tired and still a bit drunk, but they know he could be up and out like a shot. 

They freeze, staring into each other’s eyes. “Sorry, dad,” Dean calls. 

“Just go to sleep,” John replies.

They lay there, chest to chest, just breathing for few seconds, waiting for John to fall back to sleep. He’s quickly woken and quickly back to sleep.

Dean drops his mouth to Sam’s ear and grabs the back of his thigh. “Sammy,” he breathes as he pulls Sam’s thigh up and out. Sam’s breath hisses out from between his teeth as Dean settles tightly against him. Dean rolls his hips up and down, back and forth, forcing Sam to open up wider for him. Sam’s done it for other guys, he can damn well open up for Dean. 

“Dean,” Sam shudders as Dean drags his hips in a slow roll, rubbing their hard lengths together. 

Dean keeps rubbing, a slow, steady roll. Nothing rough enough to make the bed creak, smooth and perfect. He grabs Sam’s earlobe between his teeth, biting down, and Sam whines, cock throbbing against Dean’s.

Sam grabs Dean’s hips tight, more perfect bruises for Dean to feel later, to prove that this wasn’t just one of the many sick/wrong/dirty dreams Dean has had since Sam stopped being a little kid. 

It’s so frustrating barely being able to move without the bed creaking or the trailer rocking. Dean’s never fucked a guy, but it’s more out of worrying about what John would think than lack of desire or opportunity. But apparently that hasn’t stopped Sam, and now all Dean can think of is the feel of Sam’s hard, muscled ass squeezing around his dick. Fucking Sam so hard he wouldn’t be thinking of any other guy. Dean has to know if he’d be the first. _Please, let me be the first._

Dean grabs Sam’s head, pulls it close to his mouth. “Did you let any of those guys fuck you, Sam? Any of them pop your cherry yet?” He punctuates his question with a twist of Sam’s nipple that turns harder than he had planned. But by the arch of Sam’s back and the wordless gasps he makes as Dean’s nail scrapes across the tight bud, Sam has no complaints. Dean does it again, pinching the nipple between his fingernails. “Did they? Tell me.”

Sam’s head thrashes against the pillow in violent denial. “No,” he whispers brokenly. “No. No, Dean. Wanted...wanted it to be you.”

Dean _has_ to kiss him then. Sam’s mouth is hot and so willing under his. Sam’s hands scrabble for purchase on Dean’s back, scratching red lines of pleasure-pain down Dean’s skin. He coaxes Sam’s tongue into his mouth, sucking on it in rhythm to the rolling of his hips. Sam whimpers desperately as he digs his nails into Dean’s ass, pulling them almost brutally tight together. Fuck but Sam is getting strong. 

The sweat and slickness between them eases the slide of their cocks against each other. Dean shudders with the need to thrust harder and faster, the slow, gentle drag not nearly enough to do more than drive him out of his mind. His muscles tremble as he hangs on the precipice of orgasm, wanting more, needing more from Sam. He arches over Sam, mouth open, teeth pressed against Sam’s skin. Sam tastes of soap and sweat, and gentle bites and sucking are all Dean dares to do. He can’t risk leaving marks that John might see. It’s not enough. 

“Harder,” Sam begs, pushing Dean’s head down. “Please.”

Dean bites a trail down Sam’s ribs, grabbing and nipping skin between his teeth until Sam is panting and trembling with each one. “Harder, please.” His whisper is wrecked and Dean can feel Sam’s cock throbbing against his thigh, painting slick, hot trails on his skin.

“Christ, Sammy,” Dean swears, dragging his tongue up Sam’s side and back to his neck. “Kinky little fucker, aren’t you?” Not a surprise, really. Dean needs a little pain with his pleasure, too. You have to go so easy with girls, most of them don’t go in for the rough stuff. He wonders how much Sam could take. How much he would let Dean do to him.

“Dean,” Sam exhales. “Oh god, Dean. Please.” His chest is rising and falling against Dean’s and Dean can feel the tremors in his arms and legs, feel the heat rising off his body. He needs to buried in Sam now. Right now. 

“Yeah, Sammy. It’s okay, I got you. I want to fuck you, baby boy. Nice and hard. Make it good.” 

Sam chokes on a cry, biting his lip to keep the moans in. Dean darts in and licks across Sam’s lips. They get lost in each other’s mouths until Sam wrenches his head away.

“C’mon Dean. Fuck me. God, do it.” His hands dig into the muscles of Dean’s ass and he bends his knees so that Dean’s dick slides down beneath his balls, nudging into the dark warmth of his ass.

Dean drops his head down, biting Sam’s shoulder to try and stay quiet. He thrusts uncontrollably into that heat, feeling the head of his cock press against Sam’s opening. Sam grunts with each thrust. 

Dean pants, shoulders heaving as he forces himself to stop. “We can’t, Sam. Can’t.”

“Yeah, we can, I want to.” Sam lifts his hips up and down, forcing Dean further in.

“Sam, Sammy. We need...lube. And...and...” Dean knows there is another reason but he’ll be damned if he can think of it now. The need, the pressure building in the base of his spine, the back of his brain, is so strong that all he can think of is surging forward, pushing his way into his little brother and fucking him into the mattress. Only his soul-deep need need to take care of Sammy and the distant knowledge that it would hurt, stops him.

John coughs, the sound carrying clear as day through the walls. The boys freeze. Oh yeah, that was the other reason. There was no way he could keep quiet while fucking Sam, and he wanted to hear Sam yell his name when he pushes into that virgin body. _God_ , lust stabs into Dean’s groin at the thought.

He stops the relentless thrusting of his body against Sam’s. Pats Sam gently, sloppily, shushing him and running soothing hands up and down his ribs. “Shh..shhh. I will, I will. I promise. One day, when Dad’s gone. I’ll take care of you so good, baby boy. Gonna make you scream.”

Sam nods, drawing in a shaky breath, eyes locked on Dean’s. “You promise?”

Dean nods, holding back horrified laughter. Sam sounds like he did when he was four years old and Dean told him they’d get ice cream the next rest stop. “Yes, Sammy. Promise.”

“Okay, okay.” Sam’s breathing has slowed but the strain is still evident in the trembling of his arms and legs, the pulse of his cock against Dean.

Dean isn’t much better. Sweat drips from his head and his balls are so tight against his body it borders on painful. 

“Gotta come, Dean. Fuck. make me come,” Sam begs.

Dean’s hand tightens convulsively around Sam’s shoulders as the sound of his baby brother begging him to make him come drags him to the brink of orgasm. “Shit, shit, shit,” he whispers into Sam’s skin. “I’m a sick fuck, Sammy.”

Sam huffs out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well, get in line. Wanted you to fuck me since I was twelve.”

Dean swears long and low under his breath. That is fucking _it_. He rolls off of Sam, landing on his side on the bed. Before Sam can register the loss, Dean’s got his hand wrapped tightly around Sam’s dick. He strokes up and down, quickly, roughly, gathering all the fluid flowing from the tip. Sam gets wet, so wet. 

While Sam is still gasping, trying to suck air into his lungs, Dean reaches down between his legs, stretches behind his balls and pushes one finger inexorably into Sam. It’s as hot and tight as Dean had imagined, and he thinks he could come just from the feel of that smooth muscle trembling around him.

“Dean!” Sam pushes out through clenched teeth. He throws his hand across his mouth, biting deep into the flesh of his palm.

Dean pumps hard and deep, mesmerized by the feel. Between Sam’s breathless, almost silent whines, the way he’s riding Dean’s finger, hips pumping like a pro, and the way he looks, Dean is seconds away from coming.

And, god, the way he looks. His eyes are wide and wild, fixed on Dean’s. His free hand clenches the sheets, pulling them up and off the cheap mattress. A pink flush spreads down his golden skin from his cheeks to his chest and his nipples are tight and hard. His cock is dark red and throbbing, shiny with the pearlescent fluid sliding down it. He’s so hard it looks almost painful and Dean can feel Sam’s heartbeat against his fingertip.

Dean pulls out, gathers some more of the wetness pouring from Sam, and shoves back in with two fingers. It’s rough, and probably going to hurt tomorrow, but he’ll apologize then. Sam arches off the bed with a strangled yell and Dean reaches down further, angling his wrist so Sam drives Dean’s fingers deep inside him when he slams down again.

Sam’s eyes get impossibly wider and he lifts his hips up as high as he can again and just fucks himself hard on Dean’s fingers. He’s pulled his fist away so he can grab onto Dean’s shoulder. Dean can see him mouthing _fuck, Dean, fuck, Dean_ over and over like they’re the only two words he can remember. Dean will be damned if he comes before his little brother does. “Touch yourself,” he croaks in a rough command. “Touch yourself. Come for me, Sammy.”

Sam rips his hand off the sheets and grabs his cock just as Dean presses up and in. Two strokes and Sam is gone, muscles locked up, trapping Dean inside, as he shoots over and over onto his stomach and chest and chin.

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean breathes out as Sam’s orgasm finally tapers off and he is lying spent and shuddering through the aftershocks. “Holy fuck.” Sam can’t hold back a cry as Dean pulls his fingers free. They both freeze, waiting to see if John will wake. For a few seconds, the only sound is the thudding of their hearts and the almost-sobs of Sam’s labored breathing.

Dean’s still hard, his needs forgotten in the spectacle of Sam coming. Now want presses down on him and he ruts against Sam’s muscled thigh. 

Sam closes his eyes and moans at the feel. He runs a hand through the mess on his chest, sliding his palm down his body and slicking up the skin. He reaches across himself and grabs Dean’s cock. With his other hand, he pulls Dean’s mouth down to his. 

Sam’s mouth is sweet as sin and Dean loses himself in it. He thrusts hard and fast into the circle of Sam’s fist, coming with a yell that Sam swallows down. His fingers dig hard into Sam’s hips and his thrusts make the hinges on the rickety bed creak so loud, Dean worries it will crash to the floor. He doesn’t think he'll care if it does.

Dean collapses, shivering, on Sam. He lays there, feeling their hearts pound together. Dean’s fairly sure he can actually feel his brain cells dribbling out of his ears.

He runs his hands through Sam’s hair as Sam reaches down blindly to the floor, grasping for something to wipe them clean with. He comes up with one of Dean’s t-shirts and holds it up with a question in his eyes. Dean shrugs.

Sam doesn’t make eye contact as he wipes himself off. He looks suddenly young and unsure. Dean smooths the hair away from his eyes. “You okay, Sammy?”

Sam blushes. Unbelievable after what they just did. He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

 _Are you?_ Dean thinks. Because Dean isn’t. Not one bit. He knows he should be, but he just can’t find it in him. Sam needs to know that. “I’’m not, Sammy. But if you feel bad, I’m really sorry about that.”

Sam’s hair brushes against Dean face as Sam shakes his head wildly. “No, no,” he rasps. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just...I wanted.. for so long...You’re just so fucking,” he sucks in a shuddering breath and his hands grip onto Dean’s forearm, clutching. “And I know I’m wrong. Made wrong.”

“No!” Dean’s voice is hasher and louder than it should be in the quiet and he pushes his face into Sam’s shoulder and repeats it more quietly. “No. You’re perfect.”

Sam shudders out a sob. 

“Perfect,” Dean repeats and Sam turns in his arms to face Dean.

Dean can’t remember a time when Sam’s face wasn't the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night. The way he feels towards Sam was really all he knows of love. Mary’s love is a faint memory, a thread of hope through the dark times. John’s love has always been mixed with his own despair and regrets. But Dean and Sam have had each other their whole lives. And right now Sam is looking at Dean like he is all he can ever see.

All Dean can think is that he never wants to leave this rickety bed in this tumbledown trailer.

Dean has had a lot of sex over the years, but this...this is nothing he’s ever done before. This is the heavens opening up and the earth moving and every pansy-ass chick-flick moment he’s ever mocked, knowing it would never be like that for him. He’s never even kissed anyone he loved before. He didn’t know it would be like this. He knows it’s not normal, but it’s all he knows. It’s in him like his eye color, trained into him like his reflexes, his aim. It’s muscle memory of the heart, loving Sam, talking care of Sam, and it will be the last part of him to go. Being with Sam like this has spoiled him for anything else forever.

As Sam falls asleep, tossing restlessly against Dean, Dean knows two things without a doubt. One, he will never love anyone they way he loves Sam, and two, this love with be the death of him one way or another.


End file.
